


In His Palace

by whichstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Twelve Dancing Princesses Fusion, Castles, Dean Cas Tropefest, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Magic, tropefest2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:22:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28829589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: Every night twelve princesses go to bed with twelve pairs of perfectly neat shoes. Every morning, the royal princesses are exhausted, and their shoes are ruined. Enter Dean Winchester, determined to solve the mystery and win himself a kingdom.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 21
Kudos: 59
Collections: Dean/Cas Tropefest 2021 Mid-Winter 5k





	In His Palace

**Author's Note:**

> "I don't have time to write a Tropefest," I said, but I tried anyway. And then my original idea grew too long and I didn't want to edit it down.
> 
> "Maybe I'll write this story instead...on the very last posting day of Tropefest. It will be short!" And, lo, a story was written.
> 
> Thanks to the mods for hosting the Tropefest Midwinter 5k! It's always a delight to participate, even if sometimes it's a bit of a...half-crazed, hectic delight.

Dean slumped against the wall and inhaled the stone-damp air of the narrow stairwell. Servants moved silently past him like he had already failed. Like he was already dead. Maybe he was. Swallowing against rising bile, Dean fumbled his way down to the door that opened out to the kitchen yard of the vast Harroway castle. He could do this. He could save himself. Right? It was a fairy tale palace, and if he survived he would one day rule it alongside his queen.

 _If he survived. If he uncovered its secrets_. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Dean stepped into the hay-strewn courtyard. Two out of his allotted three nights had passed in the castle, and he’d slept like a swaddled babe through both of them. If he couldn’t manage to stay awake for one more night and learn the secret of the princesses’ terrible exhaustion and nearly daily ruined shoes, he’d be sent to the gallows rather than the altar. And the princesses would go on destroying footwear and men’s lives long after his death.

Dean stood in the dust and straw, and stared out at the forest that ringed the palace. He could run for the trees and disappear into them, leaving this cursed palace behind. But then what about Sam? His brother’s dreams of attending the royal university would be dashed but more than that, he’d be a marked man - the brother of a coward who had gambled with the king and then run. No. The only way out of this mess was through. He had to stay awake tonight, or all was lost.

“Okay,” he whispered, pressing his fingers to his lips as though that would keep the fear inside. “I can do this.” Elsewhere on the grounds, the King’s twelve daughters had finally risen from their slumber and were breaking their fast in the rose garden. Barred from exploring their chamber, his strategy now was to stalk the castle grounds. Perhaps a tunnel lay buried behind a copse of bushes, or a magical doorway stood in a ring of stones. He’d been permitted to examine the princesses’ ruined footwear each morning, and had observed the grass and dirt and water stains on the tattered shoes. Surely they were sneaking out of the palace at night.

“Please!” the anguished shout halted Dean in his tracks before he’d moved more than a few paces out of the kitchen yard. “Please, don’t! Just let me go. Please, I—“

Dean looked back sharply to see two guards dragging a bedraggled man out of the castle. The wretch held between them struggled feebly in their grasp, arms wrenched high like broken wings. He pled with them as they hauled him out in the yard. “Please, I’m so hungry and there is so much in the palace—“ The guards exchanged a glance, then together they tossed the man to his knees in the yard.

The beggar collapsed in a cloud of dust. For a moment, he sagged in seeming relief into the straw, no longer gripped by the guards. But Dean knew before the first kick landed that the man had only been hauled outside so he could bleed freely into the earth without fear of staining the castle’s floor. “Don’t know how you got in here,” one of the guards sneered. “But I aim to make an example out of you.” He punctuated his statement with a sharp kick to the ribs, drawing out a howl of pain.

“Damn it,” Dean growled, and sprinted back towards the guards and their victim. The first one went down quickly, Dean’s blow to the back of his head delivered squarely. He fell into the dirt next to the beggar. Dean finished the job with a quick strike of his boot to the guard’s temple. The second guard swore at him before swinging into a defensive stance. This had the effect of freeing their victim from his blows. But the second guard was a burly man, well fed and well trained. His fists landed like thunder across Dean’s upraised arms, cutting into his ribs when he managed to slip a blow past Dean’s defenses. When the guard finally fell, blood anointed Dean’s forehead, and his knuckles ached.

“Come on,” Dean reached clumsily for the beggar’s slumped form, praying he was conscious enough to haul himself out of the palace grounds. “You gotta get out of here before someone sees us.” The man moaned, low and aching, but he responded to the urgency in Dean’s tone. He took Dean’s proffered hand and gripped him with surprising strength, hauling himself upright and allowing Dean to sling his his arm over his shoulder. Chest tight and body singing with adrenaline, Dean dragged the vagabond to the forest edge.

Once hidden in the trees, the man collapsed with a mumbled apology. He landed on one knee, then rolled down into a sitting position. The set of his shoulders screamed pain and exhaustion. Dean knelt in front of him, ducking his chin to try to catch his eye. “Hey. You good?” he asked urgently.

The beggar nodded slowly, hissing as he slowly flexed each joint. “Thank you,” he said slowly. “For your help. Most people wouldn’t.” He looked up and beneath the grime and blood, Dean was momentarily struck by his sharp gaze, which seemed to cut under his skin knife-quick.

Dean shivered like a spirit passed through him. “Yeah, I’m not most people.” He applied a cocky grin to the situation and eased back, resting his elbow on his knee. “And you lucked out. I just so happen to be the person at the palace with the least to fear from those two leatherheads.”

The man cocked his head to one side, those eerie blue eyes never leaving Dean’s face. “How have you come to fear so little?”

“I’m Dean Winchester,” he explained. “The latest in a long parade of fools here to solve the riddle of the princesses’ shoes. I’m either dead tomorrow, or I’m the next king. The way I see it, two guards aren’t a problem. And hey - I’ve been where you are.”

The man looked down at his tattered clothing. At the blood staining his tunic crimson. “Surely not as low as me.”

“Surely so.” Dean scrubbed at his chin. “Listen. There’s a footpath not far from here. You can follow that out and it’ll take you past the village. Me and my brother live out that way. Ask for Winchester, tell him I sent you, and he’ll give you a place to stay tonight and something to eat.”

“That’s very kind of you,” the man said slowly. “But you don’t need to do that.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, well. Gotta look out for each other in this world, right?”

“Right.” Clearing his throat, the man said, “My name is Castiel.”

“Castiel.” Dean’s lips twitched in a smile. “Can’t say it’s entirely been a pleasure but that’s no fault of your own.”

Castiel glanced towards the distant palace where the two guards bled into the dirt. “Indeed.” Frowning, he asked quickly, “Tell me. Why do you wish to be king?”

Dean laughed at that, but the beggar continued to look openly puzzled. “Oh. You’re serious.” He raised a brow. “The promise of wealth and power are heady things?”

“So are many things. There is much I treasure above gold.”

“Listen, buddy. It’s not gold I want, but it’s gold I’ll use.”

Castiel’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand.”

“This world’s hard on people like us. Maybe I see a chance to make a difference. It’s not every day that life hands you a shortcut. There are people I gotta protect. And nobody else—”

“You could die.”

“I could. But some things are worth it.” Their gazes tangled like clinging vines, until shouting from the kitchen yard stirred them.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath. “You should go.”

Castiel made no reply. Instead, he quickly pulled at his tattered clothing, revealing a patched satchel. Flipping it open, he pulled out a bundle of dull gray cloth and thrust it at Dean. “You saved me,” he said quickly. “Allow me to do the same.” Dean accepted the bundle without thought. Silky cloth caught on the nap of his fingers, smooth as a feather. "I know you are on your last evening." Castiel’s voice barely registered as a whisper, it was so low. “Drink not a drop today. Eat not a bite. Lest you sleep your last night away. This cloak will conceal you in your quest.”

The shouting grew nearer and Castiel sprung up, surprisingly spry for his apparent injuries. “And that appears to be my cue. Thank you, Dean Winchester. And—good luck.” With a flashing smile, he disappeared through the trees, silent as a deer.

Dean stared after him for a moment, utterly gobsmacked. Then he stood and made a run for the opposite direction, the bundle of cloth shoved under his elbow and his heart pounding from more than mere fear.

* * *

The palace lay unnaturally still. Down the hall from where Dean bedded down outside the princesses’ shared chamber, a guard snored loudly at his post. Did the whole castle sleep this soundly every night? If so, it was a wonder that they hadn’t been overrun by marauders. Carefully, Dean rolled to sit, his attention attuned to the royal chamber.

After his encounter with the beggar Castiel, Dean refused food and drink, alluding to the waiting gallows to explain his poor appetite. At dinner, he tipped his goblet to soak his sleeve, and dropped his food to the floor bite by bite. Now, he wondered if only he and the princesses remained awake. Rustling silks and the echoing sound of new shoes tapping along the floor in the chamber beyond betrayed them.

Dean drew out the bundle Castiel had shoved into his hands. When Dean had found a safe place to hide after fleeing the guards, he’d shaken out the bundle to find that he’d been given a cloak. Now, he let it ripple free and wrapped it over his shoulders, drawing up the hood. When he stood, the cloth pooled to the floor like a spilling fountain.

The cloak felt like a lightning-filled sky against his skin, or like the beggar’s clear gaze in the shadow of the castle. Dean shivered against it, and pushed open the princesses’ door. Through his arm, as though through clear glass, he watched the crack in the door widen. Marveling, he raised his hand and watched as the room shimmered into focus _through_ his own body.

Dean peered through the doorway just in time to watch as the eldest princess, raven-haired and bedecked brightly as a bird, descended into a great hatch in the middle of their floor. Swearing silently, Dean crept into the room, and followed the princesses down.

Magic permeated Harroway, wrapped around Dean, and soaked down into the chambers beneath the royal apartments. Dean had expected the hatchway to open up into the long, dark throat of the palace. But the winding staircase was neither close nor dark. Instead, light assaulted his eyes. A forest gleamed as far as he could see on either side of the steps, and the ceiling was flecked with light as though by stars.

Below him, the twelve princesses traipsed down the impossibly long staircase, their laughter filling the strange woods like birdsong. Past gold and silver trees they danced. Sinuous shadows moved in the distance, or perhaps the trees themselves danced as the princesses tripped past.

A low slung branch caught at his cloak, drawing Dean up short. Stifling a curse, he stopped to untangle it in quick, silent movements. The wood between his fingers gleamed, and though it had every appearance of well-wrought gold, it felt warm and natural under his fingers. Carefully, he snapped off a twig of gold and secreted it in an inner pocket of his enchanted cloak.

The further they descended, the brighter the secret forest became. The grove of gold gave way to one of diamond, which cracked like frost across the vast cavern. Dean stole a branch of diamond, and placed it in his cloak.

Below the diamond grove, a wide beach spread around a midnight lake. Twelve men stood tall on the shore like pikes, until they broke and bent to take each princess’s hand. Wordlessly, the princesses swept into the boats and settled into a low-slung gilded seat as though this was routine.

Dean shook his head, frowning. The King had issued his challenge a full year before; of course these men and their princesses were well accustomed to each other by now. Quickly, Dean trailed the eldest to her boat. He stepped into the belly of the craft carefully. Taking up a long pole, the silent boatmen began to push the elegant skiffs across the lake to a castle that shone like a mist-shrouded moon on the distant shore.

“The boat’s heavy tonight.”

Dean caught his breath, but the princess tittered. “Perhaps it is you who lack strength,” she said with imperious amusement.

As they approached the castle, music draped a veil of beauty across Dean’s shoulders. He’d enjoyed plenty of music in his life - from rowdy bar songs to the distant memory of his own mother’s lullabies. But this— This was something else. The musical score seemed to disappear at the higher or lower registers, as though passing beyond his capability to hear it. But he could still feel it singing across his bones. Dean closed his eyes and swallowed hard against the emotion balling in his chest. _Keep it together. Unravel Harroway’s mystery and seize what you deserve._

When the boat ground into the shore, rocks scraping the hull, Dean’s eyes flicked open. He gathered himself, quick as anything, and followed the princess from the skiff. Dodging around them, hanging behind them, Dean followed the princesses and their silent escorts away from the lake, and towards the massive castle.

The castle itself was a wonder unparalleled to even Harroway. The exterior was smooth, opalescent up close, and it looked as though it had been dribbled into existence, built up like wet sand by a large, delicate hand. Despite its bubbled surface, graceful windows cut into its spires and across the bracing buildings. Each window shone with merry gold light. And while the woods leading to the castle had shivered like living metal, here fragrant, flowering plants embraced the castle like lips to a breast.

Dean followed the princesses through a sprawling green lawn and up the white steps of the palace. Music billowed inside the castle, filling the halls. But now, he could hear the hum of talk, of laughter. The princesses floated to the ballroom, flanked by their escorts.

The ballroom was easily the largest room Dean had ever seen. Still, milling revelers filled the place, at times so thick as to obscure the swirling dancers carving patterns across the floor. Dean stood in the doorway as the princesses joined the dancing, and laughed. “An enchanted palace under the castle,” he said, as giddy disbelief threatened to overwhelm him at last. “Unbelievable.” He patted his cloak and the twigs and leaves pressed against his chest, firm proof of the strange place beneath the princesses’ chamber. He hoped it would be enough to convince the king that he was telling the truth. Surely at the very least, these spare twigs were a fine dowry, even for one as poor as himself.

Dean set out across the ballroom floor, and the crowd buffeted him into a kind of dance as he wove through the room. The dancers were dressed richly, bedecked in silks or jewels. But there were plenty who were plainly clad - like common folk. There, a woman with blacksmith-thick arms sported seared leather. Here, a man with heels as high as a bladed hand smiled with moss-green lips at his tip-eared companion. Dean pressed himself to the opposite wall and, nestled in the bower of the ballroom, watched the party with ecstatic awe.

“Are you going to skulk around the edges of the ballroom all night? Or will you dance?”

Dean ignored the amused question at first, too fixed on the revelry and tracking Harroway's princesses in case he must flee with them. Down in this cavernous kingdom, he doubted his ability to track the hours on his own.

A hand, warm and broad, rested on his shoulder. Dean sucked in a startled breath and whirled to face…

“It’s you,” Dean breathed as recognition jolted through him. Next to him stood a man wrapped in soft gold silk, a cloak pinned with an ice-blue jewel setting off his broad shoulders, and brocade as soft and delicate as petals tracing runelike patterns across his broad chest. He was clean-shaven, his dark hair elegantly tousled. All of these details should render him unfamiliar, but his eyes - those blue eyes and that steady, penetrating gaze - those were unmistakable.

Dean reached out a hand to Castiel’s face. Now it was free of the bruises and cuts the guards had inflicted on him earlier. His fingertip brushed along his jaw in wonder and Castiel sucked in a sharp breath, drawing out of reach. His hand raised to his cheek where Dean had touched him, his eyes wide as though Dean had leaned forward and branded him with a kiss. Castiel dropped his eyes, before taking a trailing look from Dean’s thighs to the sweep of his brow. “You wear my cloak well,” he said warmly.

Dean raised his arm and the castle shone through like he was a soap bubble. “You see me. Do others here—?”

“None will see you except for me, since the cloak’s magic is my own.”

“Ah. Thank you?”

Castiel smiled in amusement. “You made good use of it. You found your way to my castle, after all. And none apparently the wiser.”

“it’s incredible.” _Understatement._

 _“_ It is,” Castiel agreed pleasantly. “You must have abstained from food and drink as well?”

As if all it needed was a reminder, Dean’s stomach answered for him. Castiel smiled. “Well, we should remedy that. Come. You may take off my cloak. You’ll have no need of it when you are with me.”

“But the princesses. They will recognize my face.”

Castiel reached out then, stepping forward and cradling Dean’s jaw with broad, elegant fingers. His touch froze Dean like a deer in a field who had just encountered a very large wildcat. “They will not dare to look at you when you are by my side, Dean. Come. Eat and drink, and tell me of your life.” He quirked a smile. “It will amuse me.”

* * *

The night passed slower than Dean suspected it should have. At Castiel’s table, sampling delicate pies and slender-sliced fruits, Dean drowned equally in the rich goblet of mead, and the sight of Castiel’s lips on his own cup. Afterward, warm with wine, Dean danced with Castiel. They pressed together under the vaulted ceiling, the crowds parting to give way to their every step and turn.

“Castiel,” Dean asked as both the dance and Castiel’s proximity turned him dizzy. “Am I under your spell?”

Castiel lips quirked in amusement. “Are you?”

“I— I did exactly what you should never do, after all. I ate and drank in a…fairy land?”

“Mmm, I suppose you could call my kingdom that. But do not worry. That was only food. Only wine turns your head fuzzy.” He leaned in and winked clumsily. “I am not immune to it,” he assured Dean, and stepped on his toe. Laughing, stumbling a little, he continued, “Did you not sate your thirst? Your hunger?” Castiel’s regard centered on Dean’s mouth.

“No,” Dean admitted. “I still hunger.” His voice dropped low and intimate. “I thirst.”

“Do you?” Castiel flicked his tongue to wet his lips, and that was really enough.

Dean leaned down as their steps slowed to a sway, until his mouth hovered a finger’s width from Castiel’s ear. “I’m tired of dancing. Aren’t you?” To his delight, he could feel Castiel’s shiver under his hand. “Is there somewhere we could go?”

“To rest?”

“No.”

“Ah.” Castiel’s breath came shallow. “To talk?”

“Not the first thing on my mind, but I can multi-task marvelously well."

In a flash, Castiel grabbed his hand. “Follow me,” he said and with a sudden bright grin, he pulled Dean through the ballroom towards a wide balcony sheltered by fluttering curtains.

The balcony opened onto another stair, this one curving down along the trunk of a tower and disappearing into what appeared to be a raucous jungle of roses. Fruited musk filled the air, like every sweet fruit-bearing plant bloomed in this place. Above them, the cavernous sky blushed blue and green like the ribbons of an aurora against the unfathomable depths. Castiel pulled Dean to a barrow in the thick of the garden and settled him at its peak. He placed both palms against Dean’s shoulders, and looked at him with the hooded gaze of a pleased cat.

“Is this every night for you?” Dean asked, acutely aware of the warmth of Castiel’s hands over his tunic.

“Many nights. Most nights. My kingdom has many doorways and my guests vary in marvelous variety. And they all do _love_ to dance.” He began to trace his fingers down the stitching across Dean’s shoulders and the brace of his chest. To his hips.

Dean struggled to remember why he was here, if not to touch and be touched. His next question came out embarrassingly like a gasp. “Those princesses. Those girls - because two of them are younger than Sammy - are they going to be drawn back here forever?”

Castiel shrugged. “They enjoy dancing. I enjoy looking.”

A bolt of jealousy fueled Dean’s next words. “So the lies above. The deaths at Harroway of men like me. Those don’t matter to you?” He grabbed at Castiel’s wrists and held his hands away.

Castiel looked away. “Nobody is ever harmed within my halls.”

“But out of those halls,” Dean pressed. “Two dozen men or more have died exploring the mystery of the princesses’ shoes alone. You say this place reaches all over the world? Who else is suffering up there because of what’s going on down here.”

“That’s not a matter that I concern—“

“Bullshit,” Dean said with a gentle laugh. “You are absolutely full of shit. You were there today disguised as a beggar. And why? For fun? To lure me down here? Or to help me?”

“You carried yourself down here on your own feet,” Castiel said, a little coldly. He snatched his hands away.

“Because I had to solve a damn mystery about shoes,” Dean said. “So I don’t die, and my brother doesn’t die, and everyone I love doesn’t wallow in misery under an egotistical king and his collection of stone cold daughters.”

Castiel frowned. “Why would your failure bring about your brother’s death?”

Dean threw up his arms. “A thousand different ways. I will have failed to win the king’s favor but beyond that — He will work himself to the bone instead of study - and that’s just to survive. He’ll grind himself to dust. And who knows? One day maybe he’ll throw himself at the mystery of the shoes and face the gallows.”

Castiel crossed his arms, but clenched his hands into his shirt. “When you emerge, having solved the mystery, your prize will be marriage. A kingdom and a princess all your own.”

Dean watched him warily. He looked as brittle as winter hay. “Yes.”

“Hmm. She is very beautiful.” Castiel glanced towards the palace as though he could see the eldest princess through its walls.

Dean frowned at Castiel, drinking in the sharp planes of his cheekbones, his wide eyes dark under the cavernous stars. “She is not half so beautiful as you,” he said softly, and was gratified to see Castiel smile grow into a slow and private thing between them. “You know, I’m no fool. There’s no love at first sight. You’ve got to work for it.”

“Partnership is a dance,” Castiel nodded slowly.

Dean reached out and trailed a finger along Castiel’s jaw. “‘Course,” he said, roughly. “It helps to start with a spark.” Turning Castiel to him, Dean dipped low. Castiel’s lips were warm and soft with surprise at first, but they quickly turned greedy as he returned the kiss.

* * *

Hesitation fell from their hands, their questing fingers slipping under clothing, undressing each other. Dean kissed and licked and sucked and decided that if tonight was a dream - a last hallucination before he met his fate - then he’d take it. Under the enchanted sky, Castiel’s body was perfection. Dean groaned into Castiel’s skin and rode his clever touch through the sweet, long night.

Afterward, when the buzz of orgasm and alcohol had eased into something pleasantly fuzzy, Dean asked, “If I stay, will you close Harroway’s doorway? If the princesses can’t dance, people will stop throwing themselves at the mystery of their shoes and—”

“If you stay—?“ Castiel grinned at him, before his face plummeted. “I can’t seal the doorway.”

“But this whole place is full of more magic than I ever dreamed possible. Surely you—“

Castiel shook his head firmly. “The sisters opened the portal with a spell of their own devising. I merely rule the kingdom beneath their folly. But…” He bit his lip. “There is one way to close it.”

“How? I’ll do it.”

Castiel trailed a finger across Dean’s chest, feather-light. “You’ve concealed pieces of my forest in your cloak. If those pass through the portal, it will close forever.”

Dean clasped Castiel’s hand against his chest. “The branch of gold. The sprig of diamond.”

Slowly, Castiel nodded. “And you will win yourself a kingdom, besides.”

“Cas, I—“

Dean was interrupted by a hungry mouth on his, a warm leg and a greedy hand traveling down the length of his body. His future pulsed. _What if._

* * *

When the sky grew rosy, illuminating distant granite above them, a hush fell over the palace. Castiel quietly helped Dean dress.“Thank you, Dean Winchester.” He slipped his palm along Dean’s cheek, down his throat, to the swell of his ass. “This was—“

“Yeah, any time,” Dean said, and then winced. “Sorry I— For me this was— Castiel.” He kissed him so he wouldn’t have to find the words.

“You should go,” Castiel said. “Your princesses will leave soon and you must go with them.” He raised a hand, and an attendant materialized from the hedgerow, holding the gray cloak over her arm. Castiel shook it out and wrapped it around Dean’s shoulders.

“Goodbye,” Dean said simply, and could not bear to meet Castiel’s eyes before he turned away. The branches in the cloak’s inner pocket scratched against his heart as he slunk across the palace grounds into the shallow boats, and stole across the water with the twelve bedraggled princesses.

Dean pondered the kiss and the kingdom above and below, the sway of the princesses traipsing ever upward, their shoes in ruins. He thought about his brother’s bright inquisitive mind. And he knew where duty lay, and need. And now he knew where want lay as well. He hesitated just outside the mouth of the hatch, with the pieces of gilded wood screaming inside the cloak. And then he took one step - two - and was through.

When Dean passed through the portal it sealed behind him like a suddenly healed wound. The princesses gasped and flocked to their precious hatch as Dean sidestepped around them. And then, still invisible, he walked out of the palace and through the forest to the home he shared with his brother.

Gold and diamond foliage, it turned out, went a long way towards buying a secure academic career and every comfort Dean could wish for Sam. With nothing left for himself, Dean left his brother again and set out with Castiel’s cloak embracing him. Its magic as solid as ever, Dean faded into the misty morning like a spirit walking the earth.

Dean let the cloak guide him through the Harroway forest where once Castiel disappeared like a sprite. He followed its urging to a copse of trees and there, a ring of stones. Dean smiled. “I’m coming, Castiel,” he announced to the stones and the trees and the deep, ancient ground. And then he passed through the doorway and traveled the immense stone steps to meet his love.

Castiel waited for him at the lake’s edge. He sat placidly at the prow of a beached boat, but when he saw Dean his eyes went wide, as though Dean was a dream - and not the other way around.

Dean grinned as hope lit him up. “Sorry I took so long. Family obligations.”

Castiel scrambled to his feet and the boat rocked drunkenly. With impatient grace, he launched himself from the skiff. “I didn’t think you’d come back,” he said, halting within mere feet of Dean.

“There’s nobody more stubborn than me,” Dean replied with a light shrug. He smiled hopelessly at Castiel and closed the distance between them.. “And nobody more perfect for me than you. Castiel, that night—“

But Castiel stole his words with a kiss so ebullient that the gilded forest rang out around them. When they finally pulled apart, diamond leaves and gold littered the shore. Castiel looked sheepish, but Dean laughed. “I know the feeling,” he said, drawing him close once more.

“You’ve left your home. Your family,” Castiel framed Dean with his palms. “Are you sure?”

“Some things are worth it,” Dean assured him. “And I’ve got a feeling this is one of them. Now, are you gonna soak in worry all day, or are you going to dance with me?”

Castiel’s answering smile was warm and sly, and his hands traveled cleverly down. “Oh, I do like to dance,” he said, and welcomed Dean home.

**Author's Note:**

> Twelve Dancing Princesses was always one of my favorite fairy tales, so it was the perfect go-to fairy tale for a quick Dean/Cas AU.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm a trash fire right now and have written this up until the very deadline, so all mistakes are utterly my own. I hope you enjoy <3
> 
> I’m on Tumblr @ whichstiel. You may also like the Supernatural recap and gif blog I co-write/curate, Shirtless Sammy.


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